


dear diary

by HanaMayhem



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Faked Suicide, Freeform, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murderers, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaMayhem/pseuds/HanaMayhem
Summary: i've killed off or isolated all my friends, so this is my midnight phone call.(or; my therapist says i'll feel better if i write my feelings down.)





	dear diary

The irony is;

I never got to write my own suicide note.

 

Maybe it’s some divine punishment, a reminder of the part I played. Maybe it’s a warning -- some cats are strays for a reason, and not every broken toy was meant to be put back together. Sometimes, those toys have corroded batteries and faulty circuits, and just when you think you’ve gotten close to solving the issue, it’s an electric shock and a trip to the hospital and a copy of Moby Dick on the night stand.

 

(“ **_Like Captain Ahab and his whale,_ ** _ ” says a note in one of the half empty pages, “ _ **_I am driven mad to hunt down my glory, and in that hunt I have destroyed the better parts of me._ ** _ ” It shows on every copy, even ones long after his death. And I choke on my own laughter, because of course I sounded so pretentious. Of course I do. _ )

 

The irony is;

You have to be careful about the whole “keeping your enemies closer” thing, because eventually they’ll become your friends, and then they die.

 

The irony is;

The only person besides my parents who kept a photo of me was the girl I called my worst enemy.

 

The irony is;

Maybe I hated all the things in her I saw in myself.

 

( _ If I sit still in my kitchen, just long enough without anything on the stove or in the oven, I can still smell orange juice and milk and drain cleaner and vomit and alcohol and blood. If I cover my ears, I can still hear the shatter of a glass table. If I cover my eyes, I can still see blonde hair and a red silk robe and  _ **_so, so much red_ ** _. _ )

 

The irony is;

After Kurt and Ram, the school did not become more tolerant.

 

The irony is;

The only gay people my classmates ever accepted were the dead straight jocks.

 

The irony is;

For all they had done and for all I was sure they would do, I can’t convince myself they deserved it.

 

( _ If I go out into the forest, all alone, I will still see them die, naked and cold. I can remember Ram yelling, but I cannot remember what he said. _ )

 

The irony is;

I can’t remember if I went into the boiler room to change JD’s mind --

 

The irony is;

\-- or if I went into that boiler room to die.

 

I spend hours convincing myself that it was just a sunk cost fallacy, hours convincing myself that it was Stockholm Syndrome, that it was some sickness of the head instead of a sickness of the heart. 

 

I picked out a prom dress with my mother the day after his death, like the past month and a half hadn’t happened, only to puke on the dressing room floor -- ( _ Drano and burnt flesh and cheap cologne and alcohol -- _ )

 

My mother did not ask about prom again.

 

The irony is;

Betty and Martha still tried.

 

All the scant times I had spent with them I kept thinking back -- maybe if I had stayed friends with Betty maybe if I had reached out to Martha sooner, why are they being so nice, when do they spread a rumor that I had fucked both Archie and Jughead, when do they try to feed me to the wolves in the middle of a pasture?

 

When do we start planning our classmates’ deaths?

 

The irony is;

I was never any better than anyone, never any more damaged.

 

It was loud and chaotic in the classroom and I couldn’t think and I couldn’t breathe and (slushies and ashes that never wash out) maybe I was possessed.

 

**“Shut up, Betty!”** Says Heather Chandler ( _ says Veronica Sawyer _ )

 

I did not speak to either of them again after that.

 

The irony is;

Heather Duke became no worse a person and no better a person.

 

(She’s still alive but I still see  _ Poor Little Heather _ written in chalk on a blackboard and Heather Duke beneath it, her wrists slit with a large, freshly cleaned kitchen knife. I wake up and my wrists hurt.)

 

The irony is;

Maybe if I had written my own suicide note sooner, I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to repair broken boys.

 

The irony is;

You can call a person broken or damaged, and no one blinks.

 

If a gun goes off in a school cafeteria and  _ nobody dies _ , does it make a sound? When everyone talks about the fist fight the day after and then a week later when kids show up dead and their first words are -- “ **I had no idea--** ” can you really call it listening?

 

If a mother, a son, and a father all blow themselves up and nobody is around to listen, did they ever exist?

 

If a girl tries to overdose in a school restroom and there’s no disc jockey around to monetize it, does anyone remember?

 

If a girl jumps off a bridge and does not die, is anyone around to record the healing process?

 

The irony is;

Nietzsche was wrong when he said  _ hell was other people _ . Hell is being alone with what you’ve done.

 

The irony is;

I am beyond repair and singing otherwise doesn’t change that.

 

The irony is;

The irony is --

 

The irony is;

_ By time you’ve finished reading this, it will have been too late. _

 

**_V. Sawyer_ **

**Author's Note:**

> veronica sawyer;  
> died as she lived.  
> went to no harvard  
> and married no lawyer.


End file.
